Of Hearts and a Black Ruby
by Diary
Summary: A look at the world through various OCs. Complete.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

...

One more year and Wade would be safe.

Jason isn't surprised when the name, "Wade Everett," is called, loud and clear.

Wade only needs one more year, and unlike the others, no one has allowed him to take _tessera_. Families in District 4 rarely need it, but many take it to improve the overall richness of the district. Jason started when he was twelve and didn't stop until he became ineligible.

He's nineteen, but he still starts to step forward, only to be grabbed by his mother.

Another boy, seventeen-year-old Cassius, steps forward. "I volunteer."

It should be that simple, but nothing is simple when it comes to Wade.

When they were children, Jason stole food from Wade, tore up his art projects, and shoved him around. He wasn't the only one. Through it all, Wade never tried to defend himself; he just let everyone walk right over him.

"No," Wade says, his quiet voice crystal clear over the microphone. "I'll challenge you for the honour."

People can do almost anything to Wade, and he'll take it, but heavens forbid, someone try to go into a live-or-die situation on his behalf. Never mind that Cassius couldn't care less whether Wade lives or dies, only wanting a chance at the glory of being a victor. Wade was selected to die, and by damn, he'll die.

Cassius hesitates, and then, steps back.

No one else volunteers.

...

Felicia scowls as more plant juice is dumped into her hair.

"Well," Madam Lincoln says, returning the scowl with a vengeance, "if you'd wash up more, we wouldn't have to deal with you smelling so terribly."

As usual, Felicia doesn't respond. No one is sure if she even has the ability to talk or not. The others call her 'little rat' or, if they're feeling affectionate, 'little mouse'. She's a short, petite child, covered in body hair, who works hard, keeps to herself, and if she must communicate, does so through body language and odd noises akin to squeaks. She can read, but her writing greatly resembles a small child's colouring attempts.

Her mother died when she was a baby, and no man claiming to be her father has ever shown up. Felicia Lost, child of District's 7 Lost Child Centre.

Once Madam Lincoln has forced her into a suitable dress, long-sleeved and ankle-length, her long, scraggly hair up in a neat bun, she twitches, irritably, and the older woman sighs, feeling a sense of dread. It's long been her suspicion the games are rigged, and Felicia presents herself as wild. However, she's not, not truly; aside from an aversion to hygiene and her scurrying antisocialism, she's a calm girl, empathetic to the plight of others.

If she's chosen, Madam Lincoln predicts they'll soon see their mistake. Felicia will be dead before the first night falls.

"Come on, child," she says, finally, extending her hand. "Best join the others."

Felicia slips her small, rough hand through Madam Lincoln's, not letting go until the latter's fear is confirmed as the name, loud and clear is called out, "Felicia Lost."

...

Jason is trembling with rage, and all Wade call do is say, "I'm sorry."

It only makes things worse, of course. Wade will apologise for anything, and Jason only apologises when he truly believes he's done wrong. He knows this, but the words still fall easily from his lips.

"You have to win."

Shaking his head, Wade carefully reaches out. "I'll bring honour to our district."

"No," Jason says, reaching out to hug him. "Please, please, I'm literally begging, don't die. If someone tries to kill you, please, please, kill them. If you can outlast them, you can come back."

"That isn't the way to do things," Wade insists, quietly. "I'll try to avoid them; you know I don't seek death, Jay. But if enough people prove themselves honourable, the Capitol will realise there's no need for the games, anymore. Whatever the outcome, I'll be one of the people to show we're capable of honour," he says, breaking from the hug and reaching up to wipe Jason's tears. "If I say it, are you going to get angry?"

"I'm already angry," Jason all but spits. Sighing, he digs the necklace he's wearing from out from underneath his shirt; it contains a small black ruby, one of the rarest jewels in the world. His father gave it to his mother when they were engaged.

"Jay-"

"Shut up," he mutters, removing the necklace and placing it over Wade's head. "I don't care about honour, and compared to you, I don't care about it."

For more than two decades, the ruby has been safely locked up, only briefly shown to certain people. Jason's mother had given it to him earlier, along with a canteen of sweet mixed berry juice and a large loaf of almond-raisin bread. When he was ten and caught kissing a freckle-faced boy from his science class, she'd wept in relief; as much as she'd tried to safeguard against pregnancy, Jason had snuck past every defence, coming one day when she thought she had kidney stones. She'd wept because her child would never know the horror of having his own at risk of terrible death.

Now, as Jason places Wade's hand over her heart, she weeps at home, knowing the child of her blood is suffering heartbreak while the child she's adopted into her heart faces a terrible death.

"I love you," Wade says, leaning forward to kiss Jason.

...

"Look but don't touch," Madam Lincoln orders, holding the nightlock berries in the palm of her gloved hand.

Felicia complies, and Madam Lincoln uses a stick to poke one open. "Everyone has eight seeds," she says, grimly. "There's no cure if it gets into your saliva or blood. Smell."

After she does, Madam Lincoln says, "Remember that smell, remember the colour, and remember the eight seeds. Play to win, or find some. I don't want to watch you starve or succumb to dehydration or infection. Promise me."

Nodding, Felicia locks eyes with her, sinking to her knees, and patting her heart before bringing her hand up, palm facing Madam Lincoln's. Many children use it blithely, but the original use of it was very formal and serious. _On my knees, I swear, and if I break my oath, I give you easy access to my heart. _Once upon a time, those who broke oaths were stabbed with spears through the heart.

I'm sorry, child, the old woman thinks as Felicia stands back up. I'm so sorry for teaching you how to die before you could learn to truly live.

"Here," she says, softly, sliding a pair of metal ball earrings into Felicia's almost closed holes. They'd been pierced when the child was a baby, but at some point, the earrings had fallen out or been taken out, and no one had bothered to put more in.

...

Atia quickly focuses all her attention on Mia.

Wade is handsome and polite, as well as physically healthy and intelligent, but it quickly becomes clear he'll be one of the ones who simply tries to survive rather than to play. In the past, there have been one or two who have won by doing so, but often, they meet quick, brutal deaths.

Mia is a pretty girl, healthy, and though she's a bit dim, she's willing to fight.

"Mia, dear, let Wade have the last piece of cake; his metabolism is better equipped to handle it than yours is," she orders, pleasantly.

In reality, Mia has a chance of enjoying cake once this all over; it's kinder to let Wade enjoy it while he still can.

...

Alexander, known as Alec, has to pick the lock to the room Felicia has locked herself in.

Hanna, the stylist, sighs as she kneels down in front of the girl. "People don't find body hair attractive on girls," she says, bluntly. "Once the games start, no one will make you go through the removal or care. Until then, however, looking as pretty as possible is the best way to get people on your side."

Felicia simply looks at her, expression mostly neutral, only a tiny sliver of disdain peeking through.

"She doesn't give a damn if she lives or dies," Alec says, leaning against the wall. He remembers the other tribute briefly from school. A mute girl with cold, shrewd eyes, she often made him wonder if there would be soon be a report of a mass murder committed at the children's centre. He could see her slitting throats as the victims slept.

Sociopath, is the word he's read that seems to best describe her. They often succumb to suicide.

"Well, if she doesn't give this her all, you and everyone she cares about will end up paying for it," Hanna says, exasperated, looking over at him as Felicia considers her words.

"She doesn't care about anyone."

Just as Hanna is about say, 'the people who care about her, then,' a hiss fills the room. Both jump, and a shoe hits Alec straight in the centre of his forehead.

He looks down in bewilderment, and Felicia hisses at him once more before standing up and giving a grim nod of compliance to Hanna. Soon, she's clean-shaven, makeup on her face, as a sundress is fitted on her.

...

"Is there a special girl back home?"

"A boy," Wade answers, hand going to the black ruby. "His mother's always told him, 'Marry your best friend.' That's me."

"Did you see him before you left?"

"Yes."

"What did you say to him?"

"I promised him I'd bring honour to our district and that I loved him."

...

Madam Lincoln scares the other children by throwing a rock at the screen when clean, prim-looking Felicia shakes the interviewer's hand.

Her one slight, slight chance was people being entertained by the wild child. The quiet, polite, normal-looking child- A broken child is nothing, and while Madam Lincoln has spent more than a decade trying to break down Felicia's walls enough that she could be a part of society, the mentor and stylist and other employees of the capital have managed to break Felicia in less than a month.

Damn them to hell, she thinks as she sends up a prayer that the first place Felicia runs will be full of the poisonous berries.

...

The timer hits zero, and Felicia runs as fast as she can into the woods.

_I know why you started listening. You do care; if I can figure that out, so can the others, kid. If you don't play the game, they will go after those people. Alec called you a sociopath. I work for sociopaths, kid, and you have __**nothing**__ on them. _

As she finds a cave and crawls inside, she remembers the pavement against her bare knees, the press of her hand against her heart before she raised it.

Madam Lincoln once stayed up when Felicia was fighting a strong fever, carefully dribbling spoonfuls of soup down her throat. There have been kids at the centre who have given her sweets and cleaned her cut skin, and there are children she's helped.

She still won't kill anyone; that goes against all her instincts. But she won't seek out the berries, either. As long as her death isn't self-inflicted, Madam Lincoln and the others will be safe.

...

Grateful he learned how to make bows when he was younger, Wade aims and takes a deep breath.

Jason had forced him to kill animals when they were younger, forced him to eat meat, and tried to teach him to do both without the accompanying tremulous, deep-seated emotions. He only succeeded in the first two, unfortunately.

_It's the cycle of life. _

_People can survive on a plant diet. _

_No, you can survive on it. Some people's bodies literally need meat. _

_Okay, Doctor Scientist, fine. But I don't. _

_You might, someday. Most people don't like killing something helpless, but there are quick, painless ways to do. Use everything, and make their death have a true purpose. And never, ever put them above you. _

_I dunno. I think some of them may have more talents than I do. _

_That doesn't matter to me. _

_I'd go with the talented animal if it could get me further than you. _

_I'd thank the gods if that turned out to be true. _

The bow hits straight, instantly killing the fox.

He picks it up and moves on.

...

A cannon sounds, and Felicia cautiously sticks her head out, ignoring her rumbling stomach and rapidly, irregularly beating heart. Alec's face appears, and she bows her head, touching it against the ground.

She didn't know him, but they shared a district. She's heard about people dying well, and she doesn't understand how a person die in a right or wrong way, but still, she hopes he did. Perhaps, that will give his family, the people who will mourn him, some comfort.

Quickly, she withdraws back into her cave, feeling guilt as her stomach growls and she struggles to take each breath.

...

Wade runs as fast as he can, trying not to focus on the pain and the bleeding.

"You're going to die, 4!"

He doesn't doubt it.

There's a cannon, and he keeps running, ducking down into a prickly bush. Trying to hold his breath, he tries to think.

"See that, 4," one of them calls out. "The little ditz of yours just died!"

Mia, he thinks, sadly. For her sake, he hopes it wasn't the people she allied with.

Then, he realises they don't know where he is.

...

Felicia jerks awake as a sound startles her.

Sighing, she holds her hands up and edges towards it.

A boy, older than her, is lying on the ground, breathing heavily. At first, she thinks he's clutching a weapon, but then, she sees the seeping blood on the ground. Moving closer, she sees he's clutching a wound.

"Hey," he says, quietly. "I'm Wade from District 4."

Flitting over him, she pokes her head out. Seeing no one, she leaves, hoping he doesn't die before she gets back with the plants and water that might help him. And that _she_ doesn't die before she can.

No one is going to die in the cave she claimed if she can help it.

...

"Thank you," Wade croaks. "You're mute?"

The tiny, hairy girl shrugs tightening the cloth she's torn off her clothes around his wound. Taking his hand, she turns it over and begins tracing letters on his palm. It takes several tries, but eventually, he says, "Felicia?"

Nodding, she lets go of his hand.

"I'm Wade Everett."

She traces more letters, and he inquires, "You're lost? You mean, you don't know where the-"

Shaking her head, she points to her head. When that doesn't work, she traces more letters until, finally, he understands. "Oh, you're an orphan. Your district's group home is called the Lost Child Centre."

Nodding, she places the back of her hand against his head.

...

Elsewhere, Hanna and Atia band together to convince the sponsors that the unlikely friendship between the tiny, mute girl and the big, older boy, both until this point refusing of all alliances, is potentially interesting.

When the next cannon is sounded, Felicia sticks her head out and finds a parachuted container.

...

Wade hisses as Felicia undresses his wound, spreading the medicine over it. "Thank you," he gasps out as the tears fall.

She wipes them away.

The next morning, the wound is nothing more than a small, closed up scratch. "Come with me," he says. "I can hunt food, and we both have experience in gathering."

Felicia shakes her head.

"You're dying of hunger and thirst," he says, gently. "I don't plan on killing anyone, either. We can work together to try to protect ourselves."

For a long moment, she hesitates, and then, she nods, holding out her hand.

...

There's a sharp pain in his shin, and Wade looks down as Felicia glares, rapidly shaking her head. Looking down at the berries he's dropped, she keeps shaking her head.

"I wasn't going to eat them until I tested them," he explains, rubbing his shin.

Finding a stick, she squats down, pulling him with her.

...

Felicia struggles, making an inhumane noise.

Keeping his eyes closed, Wade keeps her pinned down. The boy from District 9 is wailing as the tracker wasps attack him.

There's nothing that can be done until the wasps depart. Shooting an arrow would only draw them near, and getting involved, trying to pull them out, would get them stung.

Once they're gone, if the boy's still alive, they can wrap him in the venom-absorbing plant and move him somewhere safer.

The wailing stops, and he opens his eyes. The wasps are slowly flittering away.

Letting her go, they both rush over. The boy is breathing, just barely. His hand twitches, as if trying to make a fist or grasp a weapon. "Keep fighting," Wade advises as he strips the boy down while Felicia covers his swollen face with the vines. Telling the boy they're not enemies might make things worse.

By the time he's wrapped up, he's unconscious but still faintly breathing. They both sigh as they look down, knowing the task of transporting him is going to be anything but easy.

...

Once they get him to the cave, they try.

One of them stands guard at all times.

They risk going outside to get water, remembering watering the vines every few hours will make it more effective.

Still, only two days later, a cannon sounds without him ever coming back to full consciousness.

"Three left," Wade comments after they deposit the body away from the cave, Felicia pressing the boy's wrists together and laying them on his chest. In her district, it's a signal that the person's heart is pure; it can be removed, given to another, but to stab it or otherwise intentionally damage it is a grave insult.

...

The cannon wakes them.

Felicia looks at him.

Sighing, ignoring the feeling in his gut, he stands, offering his hand. "It's okay. Come with me."

When they get to the supply area, he takes off his necklace. "In District 4, there's a boy with blue hair and mismatched eyes; one's hazel-gray, and the other's dark brown. His name is Jason Stein. Give this to him."

Shaking her head, she bats it away.

He retrieves it and kneels down, placing it on her neck, holding her shoulders in place. "Listen. The games happen because people lost their honour; if tributes start doing what we did or if the people stop watching, the capital will see we've regained our honour. The games can stop. I promised to bring honour to my district, and I have. We both have. I need you to make sure Jason gets this back."

Felicia looks at him in frustration, wondering if she does have the ability to talk; she can't remember ever trying. The boy in front of her is more naïve than she'd realised. He honestly believes the capital to be good.

He's just condemned the person he loves more than anyone to death, and she doesn't know how to express that. Whether he means it or not, this is rebellion, and rebellion is met with ruthlessness, a type of cruelty he can never understand.

They want the games. They want the dead children.

Leaning forward, he kisses her forehead. "Thank you. Don't worry."

He gets up and begins to walk away.

Closing her eyes, she withdraws the berries she's kept hidden on her. Before she can pop them into her mouth, a voice orders, "Stop!"

Her eyes pop open, hand frozen.

"There will be two victors this year."

Wade reappears, his hands stained, and she realises he must have hidden behind one of the nearby trees, just about to pop his poisonous berries in, likely at the same time as her.

...

"I told you to make sure nothing like that aired!"

The technician nods. Death is near, but that doesn't matter. The last two were true tributes; perhaps, their courage will spark enough change in the districts, and possibly the capital, that people will realise the only answer to tyranny is a refusal to comply. It's better hundreds of people die and suffer in a short time than to have children brutally, deliberately killed every year in exchange for relative peace.


End file.
